


Hell's Coming with Him

by miss_match



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angry Wilbur Soot, Antarctic Empire kinda, Bad Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, He tries tho, I mean he's right, Insane Wilbur Soot, Vilbur, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade are Siblings, Wilbur wants revenge, Will add tags as I go, he's a dirty crime boy, it's a lotta vilbur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29935848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_match/pseuds/miss_match
Summary: Wilbur had always known that one day he would take his father's place as king, so when Phil decides that the crown will go to Technoblade, Wilbur vows revenge. He will do anything to regain what is rightfully his, even if it means teaming up with a psychotic masked man and having his entire plan rely on some 16 year old kid.ORThe one where Wilbur and Dream team up to overthrow the Antarctic Empire. However, the only way to do it is by sending Tommy into the belly of the beast. The only problem is that Tommy starts to realize that maybe the Antarctic Empire isn't as bad as Wilbur made it out to be.Title based off the song Hell's Comin' with Me by Poor Man's Poison
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF) & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 16
Kudos: 94





	Hell's Coming with Him

Light danced in the sky, reflecting off of the beautiful glass of the Crystal Palace. The soft light blanketed the trees, coaxing the animals from their hiding spots around the grounds. It created a hazy glow around the world, making it seem as if everything, at least for this moment, was at peace.

He’d always loved days like this in the palace. They were so beautiful. So serene. He finally had time to hear himself think. But not today, no, today he had been _summoned_.

Wilbur stood in front of his father’s throne room, unwanted anxiety pooling in his stomach. He hated when his father called him to the throne room, it made him feel weak, lesser than. He was the crown prince, the future king! His father shouldn’t treat him as if he were some simple commoner, someone less than who he was. He should be treated like his son.

Yet still he waited.

His gaze was locked on the double doors in front of him. They truly were magnificent, created to strike fear and intimidation into those who stood before them, those who dared enter the chamber of the king.

At least that’s what Wilbur saw them as.

His father simply described it as a beautiful way of telling a story.

Golden carvings of wings, portals, villains, and heroes engraved the iron doors. Wilbur knew they told the many stories of his father. His father who had stolen wings from another realm, his father who had spent years traversing the most feared landscapes in the world, his father who had liberated the kingdom from the clutches of a tyrant.

He didn't know much about the conquering of the kingdom. It was the one story that had always been locked away, the few pages ripped from the novel of his father’s great and noble history. 

It made him speculate that those pages were the darkest. There had to be a reason the conquering was never talked about, a reason the supposed liberation of the kingdom was talked about in hushed tones by those able closest to the crown. There had to be one stain, one mishap on his father’s perfect history.

And yet, the end result was the toppling of a tyrant and institution of a new ruler. A ruler who was kind, just, and fair. A ruler by the name of Philza Minecraft. Or as Wilbur knew him: Dad.

Still, all he knew, all he was allowed to know, was that the past leader had been a man named Dream. He had been cunning, cruel, brilliant, ambitious, and everything else that his father claimed made for an ‘inadequate’ ruler.

He hated how in these walls ambition was looked upon with wariness, he hated how cunning was treated as taboo, he hated how having these traits made him seem like an outcast in a place where he should be admired as a prince.

He hated the suspicious looks people threw his way when he talked about innovation, about prosperity. But it didn't matter, or at least it wouldn’t when the crown was atop his head. It wouldn’t matter when his word was law, when he was the king.

Some said his hunger for the crown was unnerving, that it was the same kind of ambition that they had seen in Dream before he had thrown away his kingdom. He's simply replied that while he may have been ambitious, he was by no means stupid.

He had been told that Dream had been ambitious, _greedy_ , and had craved the kind of power that no king should be allowed to have. He had wanted more. He'd wanted to conquer, to control, to take over everything he could. It had put a great toll on a once prosperous kingdom. 

His subjects had been forced into submission, stripped of basic freedoms and rights, made into nothing more that puppets on strings, pieces on a chess board for Dream to move as he pleased.

It had been _torturous agony_ for the villagers. 

But there had been a brave newcomer in the town. An adventurer who had seen the pain in the peasant’s eyes, who had seen the tyranny sewn into the fabric of the kingdom. He had always believed himself to be a righteous man, and so he set forth to free the country from the chains of its’ ruler.

He had enlisted the help of an old friend (his legally adopted son), Technoblade to join him in overthrowing the king. The piglin-hybrid had agreed at once, and together they had toppled Dream from his throne.

It had been the day of a new era in the lands, a day of celebrations and cheering, it had been the day that twelve year old Wilbur had been moved into a palace. A crown had been placed on his head and a title had been added to his name.

Wilbur Minecraft: Crown Prince of the Antarctic Empire.

Wilbur had always wondered why they named a fairly temperate country after the legend of an icy desert. They had simply laughed. He’d felt them looking down on him, in fond, condescending amusement. He had hated it. 

But then he had felt the crown atop his head. And he realized that none of it mattered.

Something had clicked in him that day. Even from the age of twelve, he had known that one day he would be king. One day, he would finally have the power that belonged to his father, finally be able to actually do something about the problems that sullied the world. Twelve year old him knew that he would pour his life and soul into the crown, he knew, even then, that he would be the best there ever was.

That was five years ago.

Five years later, after years of studying and training and practicing he still felt the longing for a scepter and a throne. _His throne._

He knew one day his coronation would arrive. One day he wouldn’t have to hide behind fake smiles and honeyed words, one day he could truly lead this world into a better era.

But today was not that day.

Today, he was forced to stand at attention, sandwiched between two guards waiting for an all clear on their communicators to let Wilbur into the throne room. The room that would one day be his to command.

“He’s ready for you, Your Highness.” A guard spoke swiftly. The two guards took their posts next to the doors and simultaneously pulled down two separate levers, opening the doors.

They mechanics behind the doors whirled, shifting and creaking as the doors slowly pealed open. 

Wilbur took a deep breath. He shouldn't be nervous. Why was he nervous? His father probably just wanted to talk to him about skipping lessons again. No matter how many times his father told him otherwise, he simply couldn’t see how extensive maths would prepare him to lead a kingdom.

He nodded to the guards, before strutting into the throne room. He always wore a mask of confidence, a shroud of certainty, even if he did not feel it. Even when he felt weak, he looked strong. The future king must always seem strong.

His feet echoed off of the marble floors as light streamed into the room, stained glass transforming the boring luminescence into a multitude of colors. His eyes landed on the throne in front of him and he felt the inescapable urge rise in his stomach.

It was silver, simple. His father had never liked a lot of extravagance. It’s large frame commanded respect and inspired intimidation, however the simplicity created the image of kindness and selflessness. It was truly a brilliant image to project.

Calm on the outside, yet an untamable fire within. Wise and just, yet bold enough to challenge the most unbeatable of opponents.

He’d found the move to be brilliant. Trading in an extravagant throne for one simplistic, yet strong. It perfectly projected the image of a king.

His father simply said he found it more comfortable.

“Wil,” His father greeted with a small nod. Wilbur felt the nerves in his gut clench. No matter when he was called in here for events, or introductions, or for his father to berate him for skipping maths or playing guitar into the late hours of darkness, his father always had his small, classic grin on his face.

But there was no grin present today.

His father looked grim. As if there was a burden on his shoulders that he wanted more than anything to be lifted. 

Wilbur’s face contorted with surprise as the captain of the guard strolled into the room. 

“I’m sorry I’m late, Phil.“

Wilbur had always worn a small silver crown atop his head. It was reminiscent of a halo, a small simple circle of silver that surrounded his scalp and ducked in between his eyes. It signified his status as a prince, while reinforcing the same ideals of his father: intimidating, yet simple. 

He had never worn any intricate gold, jewelry, or crowns. He believed that you signified your status as a ruler by how you held yourself, but the words you spoke, not by the jewelry you adorned. 

Technoblade had always seemed to disagree.

The piglin-hybrid was the captain of the guard, as well as a prince, but he dressed more like a king than even Phil. He donned a ruffled white shirt tucked into high waisted black pants, tied together with a red sash. A red velvet mantle hovered just above the ground, tied around his chest with two golden clasps.

A complex, brilliant golden crown sat atop his head, multicolored jewels sparkling in the afternoon light. He had on a plethora of golden rings, bracelets, and bangles, all incredible enough to be worthy of a prince.

Yet despite his _brother’s_ royal attire, despite the crown that glinted atop his pink hair, he was a warrior. After the kingdom had been claimed for Philza, he had appointed Technoblade to be the captain of his guard. He had called him the only one he could trust.

Wilbur had been twelve at the time, but he knew that while he might have had his father’s love, he had not yet garnered his respect. Wilbur had worked every day to change that. He had worked every day to prove to his father that he was someone who could carry the weight of the crown.

He thought that he had.

“Techno, I’m happy you could make it.” Phil greeted with a smile. Wilbur felt his insides churn, he hadn’t been greeted with a smile. He knew most of it was in his head, but he couldn’t help but notice the way Phil’s eyes shined a bit brighter when he was with Techno, he couldn’t help but notice the pride that dripped out of Phil’s voice whenever he even mentioned him.

He couldn’t help but notice that same pride never applied to him. 

Techno chuckled, “Phil, I’m the captain of the guard. I’m always around here somewhere.”

Phil smiled at Techno, the unsurprising glow of pride lurking behind his eyes.

Phil coughed awkwardly, “I suppose you are both wondering why I called you in here.”

Phil’s two children turned towards each other, shrugging.

His father took a deep breath, and in future years Wilbur would recount this moment as his last breath of contentment. He would describe this moment as his turning point, it was when the monster lurking beneath his skin finally reared his head.

In future years he would describe this moment as the beginning of something grand, the beginning of a new era. But it was not yet future years, and so instead he only felt the nerves churning inside his gut.

“Well, I wanted to inform you that Techno will start learning the intricacies of our kingdom,” Phil paused, “He will start preparing to accept the crown. I would also like for Technoblade to receive the title of crown prince.” _And for Wilbur to give it up_.

The words weren't said, but all three of them heard them. Wilbur gaped as his father. He must've heard incorrectly. There was no way — absolutely no way.

Wilbur jerked his head around to find a small flicker of emotion on Technoblade’s face. He had always been able to read people, able to see the concealed emotions hidden behind the eyes. And he could tell, he could tell that Technoblade was ever so slightly uncomfortable.

It would be simply adorable, if not for the blinding rage that ripped away at his insides.

He swirled back around to his father who twisted one of his heart-shaped rings in his hand, peering at his son with condolences scribbled on his face. _Pity_. His father was pitying him. It made him sick.

He gasped for words, praying for the familiar smooth sounds of his voice to fill the room, but all he head was the scratchy groan of an angry child.

“You—you want Technoblade to be the next king?”

Phil opened his mouth to reply, but shut it before any words came out. 

“I’m—I’m your son!”

“So is Techno—“

“I’m the Crown Prince!”

“Wilbur,” Phil explained calmly, “Technoblade is the oldest child, and therefore, when the time comes, the crown should rightfully be passed down to your brother.”

“That’s bullshit! He’s adopted! He’s not a part of this family!!” The seconds the words escaped, Wilbur’s eyes widened. He hadn’t meant to say that. He didn’t believe that. Did he? Was Technoblade a part of his family? Was Wilbur even a part of their family? He didn't know. He just didn't know anymore.

“Wilbur! How dare you say something like that!” Phil exclaimed, disappointment seeping into his tone, “Technoblade is just as much a part of this family as you are! In fact, Techno means more—“

Now it was Phil’s turn to choke on his words. The fury boiling in Wilbur’s stomach turned to ice as silence blanketed the room.

He forced himself to look at the warrior that he called his brother. His eyes were usually cold, unfeeling. It was a mask nearly as well perfected as Wilbur’s. But today his eyes shone, shone with something that seemed remarkably like confidence. Or at least that's what Wilbur saw it as.

He gazed up at his father, hurt, pain, and anger swirling behind his eyes.

“Techno means more _what_?” Wilbur spat, “More to the kingdom? More to the armies? More to _you_?”

“Wil—“

“No.” Wilbur interrupted, a laugh bubbling out of his throat, “No, no, no. I knew you loved him more than me, of course I knew that. But I never thought you loved him enough to hand him _my crown!”_

Phil frowned at his son, “Wilbur, the crown—it just isn’t right for someone so—so—“

“So what?” Wilbur asked, “SO WHAT?!”

“Ambitious.” Techno answered, as if reading from a textbook, “Cunning, cruel, it’s not fit for someone whose first instinct is self-preservation. The crown belongs to someone who would put their kingdom first no matter what. It belongs to someone who would see it as not only an honor, but a burden. That person obviously isn't you.”

Wilbur glared at his bro—Technoblade. He was suddenly reminded of why the so-called Blood God had so many enemies. He wanted to yell, to scream, to burn the castle down in brilliant flames. But he didn’t.

This was his father's fault. This was all his and Technoblade's doing. They had ripped him of the one thing he had always known would be his. He wanted to rip out his sword and cut them to bits, but he couldn't. He didn't have the skill to do such a thing, and if he did he would be viewed as a traitor to the crown. No, he couldn't do that.

He had to be smart. He had to don a mask. 

He frowned, allowing dejection and sadness to cover his face, “I’ll be in my room.” He choked, “Please, just—just leave me alone for the next few days. I—I need some time.”

Phil nodded, a sigh escaping his lips, “Of course, son. I know—I know this is going to be hard. But you are still a very valuable member of this family, and I know that you will do great things for this kingdom.”

_Oh, I will._

“Wilbur—“ Technoblade started. 

“No.” Wilbur interrupted tiredly, sadness bleeding from his words, “I just—I need some time.”

He turned on his heel, sulking out of the throne room. The sounds of his footsteps echoed in the chamber. The stained glass frowned down at him, as if it were sad to see him leaving. It’s okay, he wanted to whisper to the walls, he’d be back.

He stopped at the doors, turning swiftly to stare at his _family_.

“Goodbye.” He announced to Phil and Techno, sorrow filling his tone. A frown dug across his face, and he could feel the concern bleeding from his father. As he turned away from the throne, away from his father and his weapon of a son, a maniacal grin spread across his face. 

He slouched all the way to his room, allowing the wandering eyes of servants and chefs and maids to take in his dejected state. They had to think that he was truly broken, not that it was much of a stretch.

When he got to his room he straightened, a determined growl fixing itself onto his face. He threw everything he needed into a bag. He always had a travel bag ready. He'd said it was incase Phil decided to bring him to one of his meeting with other kingdoms, other empires. But who knows, maybe some part of him knew that his father would kick him out one day, that he would deny him his birthright in favor of some fucking orphan.

He ripped the silver crown from his head, throwing it against the wall. It didn't shatter, simply bounced off the wall harmlessly. It wasn't particularly satisfying, but it would have to do. For now.

He replaced it with a simple black beanie. He tore of his causal royal attire: an intricate yellow sweater and some slacks, and threw on one of his old jackets. He changed into all dark clothing, it wouldn’t do to be seen by unwanted eyes.

He would find better clothes later. Somehow. He would figure it out, he always did.

He waited for a while, allowing the sun to set and the moon to finally rise. No one knocked on his door. Good. That meant he would be long out of the city by the time anyone realized he was gone. Wilbur had locked himself in his room for days at a time before when he was lost in thought, trapped in his own mind.

Phil had called it unhealthy.

He’d probably been right.

Once the sun had dipped beneath the horizon, he climbed out the window, allowing himself to be shrouded by darkness. His steps were practiced and precise, well trained from countless nights of sneaking out.

Of course after those nights he always returned, drawn back like a moth to the flame. Not anymore.

He looked back at the castle, the wondrous sculpture of silver and glass and marble gleaming under the light of the moon. Some part of him was going to miss it. But he wasn’t leaving forever. No, he would be back.

And when he returned, he would take back what was rightfully his, and he would make his father pay. He would make them all pay.

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of like a prologue. This takes place a few years earlier than the rest of the story. 
> 
> Next chapter: We meet the man who could singlehandedly take down an entire kingdom. The weight of Wilbur's plan will rest on his shoulders, and he is...a 16 year old child who likes to steal shit?  
> Sounds about right.
> 
> If you liked it kudos and comments are really appreciated!


End file.
